


Blood Type

by CarrieMaxwell



Category: Let's Play (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Bloodloss, F/M, Matter of Life and Death, Miscarriage, fear of needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrieMaxwell/pseuds/CarrieMaxwell
Summary: Sam is losing blood fast, but she’s A-. Who can help her before it’s too late?
Relationships: Charles Jones/Sam Young (Let's Play)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	Blood Type

The miscarriage was bad enough. The loss of that prospected life, snuffed before it could even be a flame. Tragic and devastating, its meaning incomprehensible. Why do these things happen? Why do they happen to the ones who try so desperately to secure that final aspect of life, only to deny them near the finish line?

She writhes in pain and despair, holding her abdomen as if it will prevent her innards from spilling out. The tears have left salty trails down her cheeks as some unseen demon rips her uterus apart with blazing talons, tearing her soul apart along with her body.

There’s no holding back now, she’s screaming.

The sheets are slowly blossoming into a bouquet of roses, once white but no longer and never again.

“It…won’t stop…” she pants with bated breath, beads of sweat across her brow, a hitch in her chest as she struggles to pace herself.

“Then I’m taking you the hospital.” Her husband declares, completely at a loss to assist her any longer. He pulls out his cell phone and dials his level-headed sister-in-law Ruth Hadar. He needs someone who can assess the situation better than he. 

It only takes a few words and she knows how bad it is. She can hear it in his voice, despite how calm he thinks he sounds. It is an emergency if there ever was one. She tells him which hospital to take her to, promising she will have the staff ready for their arrival. That is all the confirmation he needs before shoving the phone into his pocket and swooping his arms under the fetal positioned woman, securing her and the surrounding bloody sheet in one bundle.

He can return later to burn the bed.

Every step he takes causes her pain, causes him pain to hear, but he pushes on. Time is of the essence, comfort is a leisure than can be foregone for the time. The car is not ideal for allowing someone to lay, but he doubts she can sit up properly. It is a test of his dexterity and strength, holding her in his arms, squatted down and flinging the passenger seat as far back as it will go, but he manages.

Charles Jones is not a man to let such things defeat him.

He shuts the door, some bloody bit of sheet caught and hanging out of the bottom, beyond saving. He darts around and slips into the driver’s seat, not even bothering to secure his seat belt as he slams into reverse and then peels out and into the evening traffic. Everyone is either in the way or gets out of the way. It’s a wonder he doesn’t draw the attention of any police units, not like he’d stop for them. He can be arrested when this is all said and done.

Eliciting an ungodly shriek from the vehicle as he slams the brakes in front of the Emergency Entrance, as promised, there is a team ready with a gurney and aprons over their scrubs. They open the passenger door and each secure a part of her as they work to carry her to the wheeled bed, not knowing what to expect in the gathered bloody mess she is wrapped in.

“You can park right over there.” One of them says, pointing to a restricted area. “We’ll get you a temporary pass in a moment.” Without another word, the little armada of nurses wheel her away as he turns the car into the aforementioned location, slamming the door shut and sprinting after them.

He may not know where he’s going, but he has a good idea with the amount of urgency permeating beyond the doors. He ignores the calls from the receptionist as she says he has to sign in, he ignores everything except for locating them. Luckily it doesn’t take long.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask that you step back and allow us to assess her.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Just stand back.”

The pallor of her skin has become waxy and even paler than his Welsh skin. Clearly not a good sign. Her breathing is shallow, too shallow. The frenzy of them starting an I.V. for fluids, calling for varying units of medication and someone asking out loud “What’s her blood type?” sent his heart into palpitations. 

“It’s A negative.” He answers.

A nurse calls for either A- or O- for her as her pressure has dropped significantly.

It would of course be now that Ruth and Jay arrive, Jay in a fury and grabbing his collar before he could blink. “If she dies, I will kill you with my bare hands.” He snarls; eyes black and set with determination.  
“By all means, I would have nothing to live for then.” He answers stoically, giving the older brother a moment to rethink his statement. The doctor lets him go with a sharp elbow from his fiancé.

“This isn’t your fault.” She says to him, trying in some measure to be a comfort in this desperate moment. Despite her attempt to soothe him, he blames himself regardless. He is the one who impregnated her after all. And whatever the reason may be, she couldn’t carry to full term. Would she ever?

A frantic response to the call for blood reveals their worst fear; there isn’t enough of either type, not enough to keep her going.

An icy cold grip on his spine, he approaches the nearest doctor and offers himself. “I am O-.” he declares. He knows he’ll have to face the needle, but he’d give his right arm if it meant her life would be spared. “Take how much you need.”

Ruth stiffens, knowing his fear, secretly applauding his bravery. Facing one fear to overcome another coming true. If Sam doesn’t get a new source pumped into her soon, she won’t make it.

They sit him down after he removes his coat, uncuffs and rolls up the sleeve, revealing a well-toned muscle arm just ripe with blue veins. He automatically turns his head, his breaths are short and stiff, passing through his nostrils with barely controlled courage. He flinches when the nurse ties the rubber tourniquet and wipes the area with an alcohol swatch. His hand is clenched into a fist, shaking even. The nurse speaks to him softly, gently, recognizing the signs of his fear. She gives the warning, and a moment later the unmistakable pierce into his flesh fills his body with blinding white pain. Nearly hyperventilating, his breathing is short and shallow, he squeezes the squishy red ball for dear life and releases just the tiniest whimper as the tape is placed across the syringe to secure it in place.

In the distance Jay snorts with a measure of satisfaction. He receives another well played elbow jab and knows he’s in for it now. The glowering stare aimed at him makes him shrink down a couple inches. 

“It’s not funny Jay.” She admonishes severely. “He’s doing what he can, which is better than what you can say you’re doing.”

If she had slapped him, he wouldn’t felt as stung as he did just now.

“It’s your sister’s life, show some respect.”

“I know it’s my sister’s life, I’m trying my best to not freak out.”

“Attacking the one person who is capable of saving her is not the way to handle this.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. She was right. As usual. Whatever prejudice he held for Charles was set long before the man begrudgingly became his brother-in-law. And knowing now that he possessed one of two of the only types of blood Sam could receive, he was grateful for the man’s presence more than ever.

The transfer was already making a difference, the stats were steady and climbing, the color had begun to return to her face. Her clothes had been cut off and replaced with a standard hospital gown, the entire bloody mess taken away and dumped into the bio-hazard waste bin. The scene was too much for Jay to take, he turned his head to wipe his eyes and met the equally distraught crystalline gaze of his in-law.  
Eyes that shared the same pain, for the same reason.

He knew then that he couldn’t hate a man that loved his sister with every fiber of his being, who was giving his own blood to replenish what she lost. Charles had promised to love her through sickness and health; here he was putting that vow to the test. A moment later his parents arrived. Before his father could even demand a thing, Jay embraced him, a tight manly squeeze that only a man on the verge of falling apart could give.

“He’s a compatible blood type.” Jay said, his voice wavering. 

It was all Samuel needed to hear. 

The doctor approached them, the worried four facing him in unison. “I’m deeply sorry to say…she lost the baby. But with her husband supplying her blood, she’s already improving. Signs looks good that she’ll pull through from this.”

There was a collective sob, hitches of breath, sighs of relief, pangs to the heart as the doctor informed them of her stats and medications they had given her. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, dealt with before, and been successful with, his confidence only a small measure of comfort.

Ruth was able to usher the parents aside as the sheer number and size of her family members was causing a blockage for the staff to maneuver around. She shot Jay a look that he understood all too well and reciprocated with a nod as they took to the waiting room.

A few more minutes and they had extracted as much as they could take from the man without rendering him unconscious. His breathing had calmed by now, though he still winced when the phlebotomist removed the needle and taped a wad of gauze to his inner arm and set it upright for him to apply pressure to. When he looked up he was startled to see Jay handing him a bottle of cranberry juice from the vending machine.

“You’ll need this.” He said, twisting the cap and breaking the seal. Charles took it with silent gratitude and guzzled the red liquid. Anything would’ve sufficed, even battery acid. Was there anything else he would be tested with tonight? Wearily he took to his feet, his movements subdued.

“I’m clearly in no shape to fight back if you want to take your cheap shot.” He snipped, plucking his jacket off the back of the chair and flinging it over his shoulder.

“Actually…” Jay trailed off, unable to muster a decent sounding apology. A moment later he grabbed Charles and pulled him into the signature Young Bear Hug, squeezing him with a strength that gave the slighter built man a degree of respectable fear. Charles was frozen for a second, the unexpected embrace catching him off guard; his arms awkwardly out at his sides as the brother he’d never had was sharing the same vulnerability, the first to admit with such a move.

It was a slow reaction, but Charles eventually reciprocated, finally putting one arm around the broad chest of his brother-in-law and patting his back, his gesture being met with what energy he had left to spare.  
Sam’s eyes fluttered, the world no longer a boiling raging pot of pain, instead of just slight discomfort, enough for her body to feel it belonged to her once more. In her mind, she had known what she’d lost, her hand moving to caress the bump that would eventually subside as there was no longer a life within. It would be a painful memory for many years to come, but one day, one day she swore it would happen.  


Would she ever again see her brother and husband hold each other in a genuine hug, openly weeping as well?

Probably not. But even if they denied it until their last breath, she at least knew the truth.


End file.
